by Joyce Lamb
"I'm having a bad day," Margot said, righting a rattan chair and patting a cushion into it. "Have a seat. You look like you could use a drink."
Instead of sitting, Meg watched her sister go into the kitchen nook. She moved gracefully as she dropped ice cubes into a glass then poured cranberry juice and vodka from the minibar. Her clothing—dark jeans and a sweatshirt—was in-consistent with an evening at a beach resort.
• .
Margot forced a smile as she brought the glass to her sister.
"I'm drinking alone?" Meg asked.
Margot gave a negligent shrug. "Not thirsty."
Meg sipped the drink, hoping for a quick, calming effect.
Unable to stand still, Margot said, "I could use a cigarette." She crossed to the desk in the corner and rummaged through a drawer until she came up with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Damn it, she was so unsettled by her sister's presence that her hands were shaking. "I managed to quit smoking last year," she said, cursing herself for being so rattled. "Some habits you just can't cut loose. Do you mind?"
Meg shook her head.
As she lit up, Margot squinted at her through the smoke. "Megan, right?"
"Meg."
Taking a long drag, Margot held the smoke in her lungs, then exhaled, telling herself that as soon as Slater was taken care of, she'd quit. For the baby. Feeling calmer now, she was able to look at her sister and not flinch at what she imagined Meg saw when looking back at her. "I've known about you since I was sixteen."
Meg couldn't fathom waiting twelve years for this mo-ment. "How did you find out?"
Margot blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Dad was mad at me for being a bad girl and said he was glad I wasn't his daughter. Even forked over the papers to prove it." Pausing, she stared down at the cigarette clenched between two fingers. The dragging sensation in her chest as she remembered was not new, but she hadn't felt it in years. Not even when she and Holly had talked about what had happened. "I ran away from home right afterward," Margot went on. "I was on a mission to find my real parents . . . and you."
Meg gripped the glass tighter. "You found them?"
Margot arched a brow. "You don't know?"
"Nothing."
"They're dead. Plane crash." Margot empathized with the disappointment that darkened Meg's eyes. "The way they died made it easy to find out more about them. Plane crashes are big news. Much bigger than car wrecks and stuff like that. Our parents were the only Fort Myers couple on a small plane out of Tampa to Milwaukee. The papers around here covered the hell out of it." She paused to take a deep pull on the ciga-rette and sent smoke swirling. "Dad was a computer analyst, Mom a programmer for the same company. They were relo-cating to Wisconsin. You and I—we were only a couple months old—were already there with friends of the family while Mom and Dad tied up loose ends in Florida. They had no siblings, and both sets of grandparents passed on a long time ago."
Meg's head started to pound. Everybody is dead. There's no one. Only Margot, a jewel thief and accomplice to murder.
Snagging an ashtray from a table by the chair, Margot tapped ashes into it. She didn't like it that when Meg's fore-head creased as if in great emotional pain, her own throat constricted. "I was adopted first," Margot said. "In case you're wondering who split us up. Hell, it's possible your par-ents didn't even know about me."
Relief expanded in Meg's chest. She'd needed to know that, to believe it. It was something.
"So how'd you find me?" Margot asked.
"Looked you up on the Internet."
Margot's smile was hard. "Ha ha."
"Some of your associates came after me."
Margot reached for Meg's empty glass. "Another drink?"
Meg withheld it. "Did you set up Beau Kama?"
Margot stared at her. Meg knew much more than she had expected. "No."
"His brother thinks you did. So do a number of law enforcement officials."
Well, that answered the question of whether the police were looking for her, Margot thought. "Do you think I set him up?"
"Tell me what to think."
Margot sank onto a chair, her mouth dry. She clenched her teeth against the grief that struggled to the surface. She told herself she wouldn't break down, not in front of a stranger. "A hit man killed him to punish me for believing in happy endings. I learned my lesson."
She was being flip about it. A man was dead. And Margot was flip. Anger shimmered through Meg. "You're taking it rather well."
The contempt in her twin's eyes surprised Margot. "You came here to judge me?"
"I came here to help you."
"I don't need anyone's help."
"Don't be stupid," Meg said.
Wincing, Margot looked away. It had always mattered to her what Meg would think of her, how Meg would perceive her. It was why she had not asked Slater to try to find her until last year. She'd always planned to be a different person, a better person, by the time she met her twin. But that hadn't happened, and now, in Meg's eyes, Margot was a fool who had to be saved from the consequences of her own actions. The truth hurt.
Retreating to the kitchen nook, Margot put the breakfast bar between them. The physical barrier made her feel less vulnerable. Taking a drag on her cigarette, she glared at her sibling through the smoke and let defensive anger take root.
"You may think you have all the answers to turn my life around, but it's not that easy."
"I suppose if it were that easy, you would have turned it around by now. Mags."
Margot started at the use of the nickname, and for a moment, her mind went blank. A stinging in her fingers snapped her out of it, and she put the cigarette out in the stainless steel sink. She said the only thing that came to mind. "Get out."
Meg looked surprised. "What?"
"You heard me. I don't want your help. I may need it, but I'll be damned if I'll take it."
"If this is a pride thing—"
Margot's eyes blazed. "It has nothing to do with pride."
"Then what? What could be so important that you would turn down an offer of help from someone who might actually care about you?"
"How could you care about me?" Margot asked. "You don't even know me."
"You know what? Maybe I don't want to know you. Maybe I didn't want to be involved in any of this. But I didn't get to make that choice. I was dragged into it by force. I've been punched, held against my will, nearly strangled to death, arrested and shot. My best friend is probably dead because of you. Even if I wanted to walk away and never look back, I can't because your friends are too stupid to see that I'm not you."
Margot braced a hand on the counter, shaken. "How did you get shot?"
Meg passed a hand over her eyes. This wasn't going the way she had hoped, and she was beginning to realize that she'd been naive to think that it could have gone any other way. "It doesn't matter. My best friend wasn't so lucky."
Margot edged around the counter, thinking of Holly. "What happened to her?"
"Two men tried to grab me and got her instead. The cops think she's dead." Her energy gone, Meg eased onto a stool, a jittery weakness in her knees.
"I'm sorry," Margot said.
"They thought I was you."
"That's what Slater told them. But he knew who he was really getting."
Meg watched her sister. "What does he want?"
Misery almost overtook Margot. "I betrayed him. I fell in love with another man, and he didn't like it."
"All of this has been about jealousy?"
"Revenge mostly. Slater would never admit that he was jealous."
Meg shook her head, disgusted. "Dayle was a good person." Her voice cracked. "She didn't deserve what happened to her."
"I'm sorry," Margot whispered. And she was, but she knew that would never be enough. "I don't know what else to say."
Meg didn't know what else she wanted to hear. Words weren't going to make it okay anyway. "Did you love Beau?"
Margot closed her eyes a moment, then
opened them wide to hold off welling tears. "Yes. I loved him very much."
"What about the emeralds?"
The question surprised Margot. "What about them?"
"I know you stole them. I saw the tape."
"There's a tape?"
"Recorded by a camera made especially for thieves like you," Meg said.
"I'll be damned. I never even saw it."
"So where are they?"
"It hardly matters now, does it?" Margot said.
"It might."
"They're on Beau's yacht."
Meg almost smiled. "You returned them."
"Yeah, big deal," Margot said.
"So you have a guilty conscience that needs to be un-loaded."
Margot nodded with a short laugh. "And while I play witness for the prosecution, who's going to protect me from Slater?"
"There are ways to stop him."
"I could testify until I'm blue in the face, and it won't save me," Margot said. "He has people everywhere."
"There are witness protection programs. I'll help you."
"I told you I don't want your help. I'll handle this my way."
"Your way is to buy a gun," Meg said.
Margot narrowed her eyes, irritated. "Is there anything you don't know about me?"
"There's plenty."
But what she did know was too much, Margot realized. And the more she knew, the more dangerous it was for her. Being here now was too dangerous for her. Who knew if Slater's thugs were about to knock down the door? She doubted they were, but she'd already taken too many chances with the lives of the few people she cared about. She was determined that Meg not get caught in any more crossfire.
Resolute, Margot crossed to her sister, who stood only a few feet from the cabin's door. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with," Margot said. "Buying a gun is the only way I know how to handle this problem. It may not be the way you would handle it, but I'm not you. I'm not anything like you. We may look alike, but we're not alike. You've made the right choices in your life, and I haven't. It's as simple as that."
"It's not that simple—"
"Let's get something straight," Margot cut in. She stepped closer, forcing Meg back a pace. "I don't want you here. I don't want your help. I don't want to know you. And if you don't leave now, I'll call security and tell them you barged in here and trashed the place. You'll sit in jail while I finish this. It's your choice." Reaching around Meg, she opened the door at her sister's back.
But Meg wasn't about to walk away now. "I'm sure we can work—"
"You have thirty seconds."
"Margot—"
"Twenty."
"I'm not leaving," Meg said.
"Don't make me count down from ten."
"What am I supposed to do, Margot? Tell me."
"Go home. Five."
Meg crossed her arms and locked her knees. "Forget it."
"Your determination is touching, but I'm a desperate woman who has something important to take care of, and you're in my way. Four."
"What are you going to do?" Meg asked. "Hit me?"
Margot reached past her and pulled the gun from her purse on the table by the door. "Three."
Meg laughed incredulously. "You wouldn't."
Margot pointed it at Meg's chest, resisting the need to check the safety. She knew it was on because she'd double-checked it before putting the weapon away. "You don't know me, Meg. Not at all." She cocked the gun. "Two."
"I'm not stupid enough to believe you'd shoot me."
Margot stepped toward her, and Meg backed away invol-untarily. She didn't realize what she'd done until Margot smiled and lowered the gun. "One."
She slammed the door in Meg's face and flipped the lock.
Chapter 26
Ryan sensed Meg was gone the instant he woke. Scrambling out of bed, he threw open the bathroom door. Empty.
He dragged on jeans, shoes and a shirt before going above deck where he saw that she had taken the inflatable raft to shore.
"Damn it!"
Instead of driving his fist into the wall, he called Nick. "Meg's gone."
"I just saw her," Nick said. "She came to see Margot."
"Where is she now?"
"I thought she was headed back to you. She looked upset, so I didn't bother her. Everything looked fine otherwise. No one's hanging around Margot. No one followed Meg."
"How long ago?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"She should have been back here by now."
"Damn, Ryan. I didn't think to—"
"Just keep an eye on Margot until I get there."
Throwing the phone aside, he whipped the life raft out of its compartment and pulled the cord to inflate it.
Within minutes, he was pounding on the door to cabin eighteen.
«
*
Margot yanked open the door and froze.
Ryan stared at her, the words stuck in his throat. She looked so much like Meg that it stole his breath. Brushing past her, he scanned the room. "Where is she?"
Margot knew who he meant but was too stunned by his ap-pearance—and his resemblance to Beau—to respond right away.
He stalked up to her. "Where the hell is she?"
"You're Ryan."
"You're the bitch who got my brother killed. Where's Meg?"
"I didn't know Slater was going to kill him."
He jerked her forward by the front of her sweatshirt. "I don't give a fuck at the moment. Just tell me where she is."
"I don't know. I suggested she go home and forget about all of this."
"If anything happens to her, I'll break your neck before Slater Nielsen can get anywhere near you." He stormed out.
Margot watched him go, a pang of envy shooting through her. Oh, to still be loved like that.
Nick stood at the end of the walk, waiting, his baseball cap in his hands.
Ryan said, "Call the feds and tell them where Margot is."
Meg didn't think about Margot or Ryan or anything but climbing the steps to her front door. Her brain was too muddled to sort through it. All she wanted was to sleep.
When she stood before the door, realizing she didn't have her key, she saw that it didn't matter. The door was ajar. She pushed it open to destruction.
Plants had been dumped out of their pots, the dirt spread out as if someone had sifted through it. The bookcase had been tipped, books and pictures scattered, the television dumped on the floor. Even her mother's dollhouse had been smashed. Next to it, MOMS KRAFT BOCKS had been re-duced to sticks.
A low moan came from deep in her throat as she sank to her knees. Rocking forward, she dug her fingers into the carpet, closed her eyes against the sorrow. How had everything gotten so messed up? What had gone so wrong?
"Meg."
She raised her head to see Ryan standing just inside the front door, his forehead creased with concern. Rage clouded her vision. She was surrounded by the debris of her life. Con-trol had been stripped from her. And he had helped.
Going to her, he reached down to help her up, but as she rose, she pushed him away and swung at him with an open hand. Her palm struck his cheek with a crack.
He flinched back but made no other move.
She hit him again, a dry sob catching in her throat. When she blindly struck out a third time, he caught her wrist, his fingers gentle but firm.
She jerked free. "This is my life," she said. "Take a good look."
"I'm sorry."
She turned her back on the apology, swiping at the mois-ture in her eyes. Her cheeks burned with shame for striking out at him when he had done nothing more than try to love her. She fought off the need to scream. "There's nothing left," she whispered. "Nothing."
"It can be replaced," Ryan said.
She whirled on him, seizing on the anger to hold back the grief. "The TV can be replaced. The microwave can be re-placed. The pictures even. My peace of mind can't be re-placed. Losing your best friend and getting shot kind of messes with that
after a while.. And what's it all been for,
Ryan? We haven't accomplished anything but lose the people we love."
She kicked at the remains of a picture frame, dissatisfied when it merely disintegrated into more pieces. A pace away, she picked up a jagged chair leg and swung it at the remains of the television. Glass shattered. She spun for something more to batter.
Before she found it, Ryan snatched her into his arms. He hung on, his arms strong around her until she melted into him. Her breath hitched as he stroked a hand through her hair.
"Margot didn't want me," she said, beating a loose fist against his shoulder. "She didn't want me."
He tightened his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Meg. God, I'm so sorry."
She broke the embrace before the precarious grip she had on her self-control shattered.
He let go, hurt by the rejection. He needed her so much, but she didn't seem to need, or want, him. "Meg, please."
"She didn't keep the emeralds. I know where they are."
He rubbed both hands over his face. "That doesn't change—"
"I love you. You're the only one I've ever loved so much I can't think." Crying now, she said it again. "I love you." It came out easily, and she repeated it a third time, realizing that she had never spoken the words aloud to anyone before him.
He buried his face in her hair. "Thank God." It was all he could manage.
Meg curled her fingers against his back. "I'm sorry I keep pushing you away. What I feel for you scares me. I'm so afraid something will happen to tear it away from me like everything else—"
"This is all very touching."
They sprang apart. The man they each knew as Turner Scott gave them a toothy grin. "Unfortunately, I have work to do," he said, and lunged.
Ryan wasted any advantage he would have had over Turner by thrusting Meg out of the way. She caught herself against the wall as Ryan took a stunning blow to the jaw. He went down with a thud, and Turner towered over him, plunging a hand into his jacket.
Throwing herself at his back, Meg hooked her arms around his neck. He jabbed an elbow into her ribs. She fell back and was scrambling to her knees, groping for a weapon, when Ryan wobbled to his feet. Turner slugged him in the midsection, and Ryan doubled over. The thug karate-chopped him across the back of the neck before slamming a knee into his kidneys.